


Led by a Beating Heart

by nicoleaf



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Bullying, Gay Will Byers, Hell, Hurt Will, Intolerance, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Religious Guilt, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, The Demogorgan, The Upside Down
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-31 18:34:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12687864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicoleaf/pseuds/nicoleaf
Summary: The preachers had warned of hellfire, Troy and his band of bullies had laughed and hollered about the “gay disease.” They pushed him and hurt him and screamed words like “fag,” and “fairy,” in his face. But all that fear he had for them paled in comparison to the cold blooded trepidation and terror that coursed through his small body at the mere thought of the gnashing teeth and spitting acid that the monsters here produced in him.





	Led by a Beating Heart

Will often dreamt of monsters, but this was far from a dream, and he was far from his bed in back in Hawkins. Great hulking behemoths that devoured every living thing it came across dotted the skyline, and he could feel acidic mucus running down his face in place of the tears that could no longer form from his dust dry tear ducts.

 

He could feel scales, covered in a thick coat of viscous slime that reeked of decaying flesh and rotting flowers, covering everything he came into contact with. The cloying rancid sweetness overpowered Will, and coated his tongue in the taste of flesh and bloodied daisies.

 

He could see shadows looming behind him, monstrous legs the size of tree trunks, gnarled like the hands of an angry, ancient witch. Long limbs reached out towards him, tearing at his sweat stained clothes. His socks and shoes were soaked in something thick and wet, not unlike the mucus that dripped off the monsters that surrounded him. Huge webs, larger than any normal spider could ever dream of making, clung to him, slowing him down as if the gossamer strands were made of lead or iron.

 

He ran, and ran, and ran, but the monsters did not stop. His bones ached, his blood frozen in his veins, and his brain existed only in a dense fog that clouded all of his senses, not unlike the heavy smog that permeated the air around Will. 

 

Only two things could cut through the cloud weighing down Will’s senses. First, he desperately wanted to go home, to run away, all the way home to his house, into his mom’s arms. He wanted to see Jonathan, and Mike, and Dustin, and Lucas. He wanted to cry. Secondly, he knew he had to run, if he stopped now, before he reached shelter in Castle Byers, he knew without a doubt in his mind that he would die.

 

In the back of his mind, Will wondered if maybe he had already died, if this was his punishment, his own personal hell, to be tortured by monsters straight out of his Dungeons and Dragons manual. After all, hadn't he just been sinning on his way home by daydreaming about Mike Wheeler’s smile?

 

Will didn’t think that the way he thought of what he did was a sin. He had only looked at Mike, but even that sent butterflies pinwheeling in his stomach, and when Mike smiled at him in response, the butterflies began to take up Olympic level acrobatics and playing jump rope with his large intestine, hitting the side of his stomach in the rhythm of his heart beat, the thumping increasing as his palms began to sweat, his face burning in embarrassment. 

 

Will had been so sure that one of the other boys would notice his red cheeks and say something, but neither Dustin nor Lucas seemed to pick up on the shade of cherry tomato his face had become, and Mike himself was too busy rolling the dice to pick up on the pounding thump that resonated from deep within Will’s chest. 

 

The rest of the evening had gone by as normal, the four boys played the game, battling creatures and escaping into a land of myth and magic, a place where Will could scarcely hear the way his heartbeat sped up when Mike spoke, or the way his breath caught in his throat when Mike looked at him with that dopey grin.

 

Will could not begin to explain the butterflies that tap danced in his stomach, or the way his face grew hot at even the mention of Mike Wheeler’s name. He wondered, distantly, if this was what his older brother felt when he looked at Mike’s older sister, Nancy. 

 

He knew that if what he was feeling was indeed a crush, that he was screwed.  A long time ago, when his dad as still around and his brother and him were dragged along to church every once in awhile, he heard preachers thunder down from their wooden pulpits about the evils of homosexuality and the gay agenda, of the hellfire and brimstone that came for those who lusted after the flesh of their own sex.

 

But Will didn’t know anything about lust or sex, only that boys had strong calloused hands from riding bikes all day, and loud joyful laughs that reverberated through the heart summer air and echoed through the golden cornfields that surrounded Hawkins.

 

Boys were funny, and strong, and had bright smiles that left Will feeling gooey on the inside, and Mike, Mike had the brightest smile of all of them.

 

Will was snapped back into the present by a monstrous roar in the distance, and any thought of Mike Wheeler and his brilliant smile melted away as a renewed fear coursed through every fiber of Will’s being. This was it, the hell those preachers of long ago had warned about in their angry and rampaging sermons. This was the fire and brimstone they promised would reign down on those dangerous sinners. Only the fire was a dank and putrid forest, and muggy air filled with spores as well as wild trees dripping acid, and the brimstone came in the form of the monstrous beasts that hunted him, lurking shadows, and the horrendous smell of decaying flesh and other putrid things that Will dared not think of. 

 

The preachers had warned of hellfire, Troy and his band of bullies had laughed and hollered about the “gay disease.” They pushed him and hurt him and screamed words like “fag,” and “fairy,” in his face. But all that fear he had for them paled in comparison to the cold blooded trepidation and terror that coursed through his small body at the mere thought of the gnashing teeth and spitting acid that the monsters here produced in him.

 

Will Byers was in hell, the preacher and the bullies had been right, and he hated himself for everything he had tried and failed to repress, but was ultimately unable to control. But despite all of this, as he finally collapsed in the upside down, fucked up version of Castle Byers, Will cried, and he cried for his friends, but above all, Mike Wheeler, the boy who treated him like he was worth the world.

 

Will cried, eyes clenched tightly, and he begged the universe for a sign. Dimly, Will could have sworn that he saw Christmas lights flicker into being in front of him, and desperately, he reached for them.


End file.
